


Down by the Dock

by ChroniclesOfJan



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fish, Fluff, Grandparents & Grandchildren, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm trying my best, Inktober 2020, My First AO3 Post, Original Character(s), Original Universe, POV First Person, POV Original Character, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:06:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26761087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChroniclesOfJan/pseuds/ChroniclesOfJan
Summary: You know, it’s sort of funny. Most of the time when people think about where they learned the important lessons of life they picture a classroom, or a ballfield, or their living room. Mine was an old dock.
Collections: Inktober 2020, Inktober 2020 - Hallmark Types





	Down by the Dock

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first time actually posting something I write anywhere. I promised my roommate that I'd do all 31 days of Inktober alongside her, we will see if I can do it.
> 
> If you guys have any tips, let me know because I am about as new to this as it gets.

You know, it’s sort of funny. Most of the time when people think about where they learned the important lessons of life they picture a classroom, or a ballfield, or their living room. Mine was an old dock.

My pap was a fisherman through and through. When he wasn’t working in the machine shed you would probably find him out on that old dock. Line in one hand, tackle box in the other. He would spend hours down there, just staring at the water. I would ask him what he thought about when he stared into that muddy water. He always just smiled at me.

“Nothing at all, Firefly. Nothing at all.” 

‘Well surely it’s something,’ I always thought. ‘No one can empty their head that much.’ But still, I just nodded along with him and kept an eye on my own line. It was always quiet down on the dock. You could hear the water lapping against the muddy sides of the river. You could hear the birds and cicadas singing their songs. You could hear your breaths as you just watched the water. It was quiet. It was nice.

As I got older, my grandpa didn’t make it down to the dock as often anymore. 

“These old bones can’t make it down that hill very well Firefly. I suppose I’ll let the fish continue swimmin’ for another day.”

Years moved on and life got busy. I didn’t spend every afternoon and summer day at my grandparent’s house anymore. Life was just so crazy. Bassoon lessons Monday and Thursday afternoon, editorial board meetings Wednesday nights, karate lessons Tuesday nights, volunteering at the public library every Saturday morning.

One day, my family had gone out to my grandparent’s house for a summer cookout. The adults were all in the kitchen talking about taxes, or elections, or whatever it is parents talk about at family gatherings. My cousins and I were all sprawled out around the living room, thankful for our aunt who talked Gram into buying a router. 

Out of nowhere, my phone just up and died, and leave it to me to not have a charger handy. Now with nothing to do, all I could do was watch as the rest of my cousins messed around on their phones, seemingly not noticing my lack of device. With a sigh, I hefted myself out of the armchair I’d slumped into when I first got to Gram and Pap’s. It was a nice day, a walk before dinner would be a good way to work up an appetite. With a quick warning to my parents, I was out the kitchen door and walking toward the clearing down at the bottom of my grandparent’s property. 

I simply walked, letting my feet guide me wherever they so pleased. By the time I snapped myself out of my stupor I realized where I had ended up. It was the old dock from my childhood, now starting to rot from years of floods and neglect. I walked forward to the edge of the dock, and sat down. Slipping off my sandals, the water was cold around my feet.

Sitting there took me back to being that little kid I was ten years ago. Now all that was missing was the fishing pole, the tackle box, and a certain somebody.

I don’t know how long I sat there, but as out of it as I was, I didn’t even hear the footsteps behind me until a voice spoke up.

“Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout Firefly?” I jumped, whirling around to look at my intruder before realizing it was just Pap, cane in one hand, folding chair in the other.

“Not much Pap, just listening to the birds.” He nodded his head as he opened his chair and took a seat, laying the cane across his lap. “Hey Pap?”

“Yes Firefly?”

“What were you always thinking about down here?” I heard a huff from beside me as Pap shook his head.

“Nothing at all, Firefly.” He responded.

“That can’t be true Pap, you can’t just not think.”

“Well now, how do you know that? Do me a favor, kid, shut your eyes.” I did as he said. “Now focus on the different sounds. Not on whatever you were thinking about an hour ago, not on any old memories, just focus on the birds, and the cicadas, and all the other critters.”

I sat back, eyes shut and did as he told me. I could hear the water lapping against the muddy banks. I could hear the birds and the cicadas singing. The occasional fish would splash in the water. I could hear my breathing as it seemed to slow down and relax.

After a few minutes I opened my eyes and looked over at my pap. He was smiling down at me from his chair. “That’s how you don’t think Firefly. Sometimes, I would just come down here to get away. No big bad boss mans angry about quotas not filled. No nosy kids that want to talk about the latest doctor's appointments. No ornery grandkids looking for a piggyback ride. Sometimes, Firefly, you just have to sit and not think.”

Silence filled the space between us as we both just sat and listened. We didn’t talk. We didn’t think. It was quiet. It was...nice.


End file.
